


Till There Was You

by AsperJasper



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Matt is a pianist/singer and also a hopeless romantic, Yeah probably - Freeform, is this THE most self indulgent thing i've ever written?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsperJasper/pseuds/AsperJasper
Summary: Faking his way into parties had been fun in school because he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, and the fun of it was that feeling. When he was supposed to be here, he hated it. It sucked.At least, he decided three glasses of wine in, at least he didn’t have to pay for any of this. He could sit here in slight misery all night long and drink until it was socially acceptable to leave.This place did have live music, too. A guy sitting at a piano, his back to the rest of the room, playing softly. There was a mic stand set up next to him, too, positioned so he could sing without having to stop playing, but he hadn’t sung since Foggy had been here and it had been an hour and a half.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Till There Was You

The life of a lawyer was not all glitz and glamor. It also wasn’t Law and Order. It was mostly paperwork and long days arguing with other people who all thought they were smarter than you.

Especially when you, like Foggy, were still in the process of working your way up in a huge, soulless firm that paid well but was more about the money than the people and Foggy wasn’t stupid nor was he impulsive, so he knew that staying with the job when it was offered after an internship was smart, but by god could this job be deadly.

But once in a while, it was about glitz and glamor. About getting dressed up nice and going to a fancy old fashioned club called Pruitt’s where people sat around dressed up nice drinking whiskey and the decade-old scent of cigar smoke was still leaking from the heavy curtains.

Foggy had snuck into his fair share of high society parties in law school, in fact, more than his fair share since he wasn’t high society and so, therefore, his fair share should be zero.

It was different going to one when he was actually invited. When the airs he put on weren’t quite as funny to him as they had been when he’d been crashing, because everyone else was putting on the same airs and saw him as an equal, not a confusing stranger.

It was a lot lonelier to feel like he was faking it when he knew he was actually supposed to belong here.

Still. A party like this, when a rich client invited everyone to wine and dine at a place like this on his tab because he was so grateful to have won his case was an excuse to drink on somebody else’s dime, and so Foggy was glad to be here.

Really.

It was a pretty ridiculous place, this club. The kind of ridiculous that screamed old money, which Foggy definitely wasn’t. He wasn’t even really new money, he was more “I have a good salary but also a lot of student debt and an apartment in New York so it’ll be a while before I consistently have money.”

The club was old fashioned and probably as old as it looked. It was a bar, kind of, and kind of a fancy restaurant and a little bit of like, a billiards lounge. When their whole group of lawyers had walked in, the first thing Foggy had been struck by was how old fashioned and almost claustrophobic the environment was. With heavy dark green curtains keeping the lights from the city out, the only light was warm and muted from the sconces on the wall and a few cans in the ceiling. Combined with the tables scattered around the room, Foggy could perfectly imagine the room filled with a slight haze of smoke and a hundred men dressed like the Penguin sitting in it smoking huge cigars and talking about things nobody should care about.

No smoking was allowed in here now, even though technically since it was a private club New York law said there could be indoor smoking, so the haze wasn’t there. The men dressed like the Penguin, though?

Very much real, and very much present.

Foggy was still working to find his place in Landman and Zack socially. He was still technically the last hire, except Marci who’d been hired at the same time as him. The only people newer than them were still just interns, and while he had a few acquaintances, he wouldn’t call any of the people he worked with his close friend. Except Marci. And their relationship had a very interesting dynamic.

So sitting in this club was a little bit strange while his bosses talked to their client and each other and he, Foggy Nelson, whose role in the trial had been filling out paperwork and offering exactly one piece of advice that they’d taken, sat off to the side drinking wine that was so high quality it tasted like shit because he was used to the cheapest alcohol money could buy.

Faking his way into parties had been fun in school because he knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, and the fun of it was that feeling. When he was supposed to be here, he hated it. It sucked.

At least, he decided three glasses of wine in, at least he didn’t have to pay for any of this. He could sit here in slight misery all night long and drink until it was socially acceptable to leave.

This place did have live music, too. A guy sitting at a piano, his back to the rest of the room, playing softly. There was a mic stand set up next to him, too, positioned so he could sing without having to stop playing, but he hadn’t sung since Foggy had been here and it had been an hour and a half.

He doubted he was going to have much more fun than he was right now, and he also doubted that he’d be able to sneak out any time soon without looking like an ungrateful asshole. Which he kind of was, since this wasn’t his idea of a fun bar to hang out in and also he absolutely hated the client who’d brought them here and thought New York would have been much better off if he’d lost his case and also his business. And also he should probably be wanted by the IRS if the stories he was loudly telling about his creative tax-paying were true.

God.

Foggy was impulsive and he didn’t make rash decisions and maybe if he kept telling himself he’d want to quit less.

Or maybe at some point, he’d admit to himself when fully sober that at some point after he’d been working here for a year that still wanting to quit probably meant it wasn’t a rash decision anymore.

Too bad he’d had two glasses of this apparently very good wine and therefore couldn’t consider anything he was thinking as viable and an actual desire and the start of a plan. Nope. There was alcohol in his system and leaving Landman and Zack would be stupid and rash because he was a year and a half off the bar and making a living working one job without having to default on his loans or choose between rent and groceries, and therefore he should keep this job.

When he took another sip of wine, he could barely stop himself from pulling a face.

Did it actually taste bad or was he just super used to such cheap wine? It seemed like he couldn’t possibly have such bad taste. This wine was just gross.

Foggy forced himself to choke down the rest of the glass before wandering over the bar to order something better to drink.

“What are the odds they have something fruity?” He muttered to himself, trying to read the labels on the bottles without being too obvious about it. No need to look like more a fool than he had to when the bartender noticed him.

“They have pretty good daiquiris. If you come on Thursday nights there are piña coladas, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard people order cosmopolitans and appletinis.”

Foggy hadn’t realized that somebody had come up next to him until the man spoke.

He also hadn’t realized that people being able to order “the usual” and have it set in front of them in less than ten seconds implying that the bartender had already gotten it ready before this man had eve arrived at the bar was a thing in real life.

Foggy low-key wished he was cool enough to do that.

“I’ll have an appletini.”

It took longer than ten seconds for his drink to be set down on the bar in front of him. So, yeah, this guy who was cool enough to look good wearing sunglasses inside definitely had some kind of rapport with the bartender.

Foggy wondered if he could set up some kind of deal with Josie to make him look cooler at his bar of choice when he was trying to pick somebody up. Probably not. Josie would just make fun of him in her way that Foggy could never tell if it was friendly or not.

“I’m Matt,” the man offered, sticking out a hand that Foggy shook. Strong grip. His bosses would be impressed.

“Foggy.”

“That’s an interesting name.” The corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile.

“Happens when you share a room with your brother and also you snore and also your given name is Franklin. Anything is better than Franklin.”

Matt laughed, and Foggy was pretty sure he saw the edges of deep smile lines peeking out around the glasses.

He was an attractive man. Dark hair, a strong jawline, full lips, and he was taller than Foggy. So, you know, kind of exactly Foggy’s type.

“You go by the nickname your brother gave you to make fun of your snoring?”

“I’m told it suits me.”

“Does it?”

“Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what people mean by that? I mean, is it an insult or a compliment? But really, anything is better than Franklin.”

“You must be one of the lawyers.”

“What gave it away?”

“I think I’d know if somebody named Foggy was a regular customer. Also, you didn’t know what was on the menu.”

“Fair enough. Does that mean you’re a regular customer? Can you teach me the secrets of this hallowed place?”

“I can teach you secrets, but they’re far from holy. People talk in front of me like I’m deaf, not blind.”

Blind. That made a lot more sense than just wearing sunglasses indoors, and Foggy felt like an asshole for not connecting those dots sooner.

“Nobody suspects that you’re actually a spy, collecting their secrets to share with strangers at the bar?”

“Nobody suspects the blind guy, and nobody suspects the pianist. It’s a great combination for collecting secrets.”

“Do tell.”

“Frederick Clemente cheats on his wife with a dominatrix every Sunday afternoon and all his friends cover for him by saying he’s here playing pool if she asks.”

“Which one is he?”

“Last I heard he was somewhere over by the large group of lawyers I assume you came from. I can’t really offer a description other than he talks like he thinks he’s a villain in a Bond movie and he always requests terrible songs.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Very. I suppose he may look like somebody who cheats on his wife with a dominatrix, but I wouldn’t really have any idea about that, would I?”

“Everybody in this room looks like they think anything other than missionary position is too scandalous to consider.”

“Interesting. I guess that makes that secret all the more valuable.”

“How much do you think he’d pay me to keep quiet?”

“If you lose me my job after knowing me for five minutes, you should be more worried about how much I’ll pay for the hitman.”

“Pretty sure I could get you arrested for that sentence, Matt.”

“I am a blind pianist living in New York City and this is the first and only steady job I’ve had since I graduated college where I actually get to use my music degree. Your threats mean nothing to me.”

“Fair enough. I’m a defense attorney, anyway, so getting people arrested is kind of the opposite of what I do.”

“Mm. So when I inevitably get arrested for spy-related activities, I can count on you to get me out of jail?”

“Only if you pay me in more secrets.”

Matt laughed again.

“Okay, I’ll start racking up credit now, then, so I don’t have to worry about it later. Come close, this is a big one.”

“Oh?” Foggy leaned in close.

Matt reached out and gently touched his shoulder like he was checking to see how close Foggy had actually gotten.

“Are you ready for this?” Matt whispered into his ear.

“So ready.”

“Okay. The thing is…appletinis are disgusting and almost anything else you could have ordered would have been better. Sorry to be the one to tell you.”

“That’s negative two secrets to your account for a balance of negative one. You can’t shame me out of enjoying a good fruity drink.”

Foggy took a loud drink of his appletini, hoping the auditory middle finger came across clearly.

Based on the barely suppressed smile on Matt’s face, it had.

“Revolting.”

“Absolutely delicious.”

“I’m glad my break is over. I can walk away from this conversation before having to hear you wax poetic about how good appletinis are.”

“They’re simply scrumptious,” Foggy told Matt’s back as he walked back to the piano. “Absolutely the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“I hope that means I get a tip,” the bartender said as he took Matt’s empty glass.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello i'm welcoming myself back to the daredevil tag with quite possibly the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written and i mean none of you can stop me and who are you to try? i just really love things that are soft and romantic and sweet and what is more soft and romantic and sweet than singing jazzy love ballads to the man you're flirting with across the bar? nothing and no criticism will be taken on the matter
> 
> title from specifically the Etta Jones version of Till There Was You because that's the best version of the song!
> 
> anyway, i'm Asper! what's up, i've written two daredevil fics previously and felt really wonderfully welcome by all y'all you're all so kind and it means a lot! i love getting comments and people actually came and messaged me on tumblr which had me ALL pleading emoji feeling. i put my tumblr in the end note of every fic i post and i've written like seventy-five newsies fics and more people came to say hi from two (2) daredevil fics than all of my other fics combined so anyway i love you!
> 
> thanks for reading, and feel more than welcome to come say @loving-jack-kelly on tumblr!


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